


They Don't Love You (Like I Love You)

by Buildyourwalls



Category: Bandom
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Polyamory, cross dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-13
Updated: 2008-12-13
Packaged: 2020-09-01 06:51:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20253955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buildyourwalls/pseuds/Buildyourwalls
Summary: “Dude, I could totally pull that shit off,” Brendon says, a smug grin on his face. Ryan snorts, and shakes his head. “You do realize that she's wearing a dress, right?”





	They Don't Love You (Like I Love You)

**Author's Note:**

> Set within the Inevitable Slide Verse created by [samedifference_](http://www.livejournal.com/users/samedifference_). You do not have to read the fics in order to understand the story nor do you have to freak out about three-some sex cause there is none in this :) 
> 
> A small holiday gift for samedifference_ who is not only a dear friend, but also one of the most amazing and understanding people I know. Thank you for being there for me more times than I can count and thank you for understanding me like no one else I know. I ♥ you. Huge thanks to gypsycaravan for the lovely beta and the most amazing feedback ever. ♥ 
> 
> Title take from _Maps_ by Yeah Yeah Yeahs. 
> 
> _this fic was written in 2008_

When Ryan prepares to leave for Las Vegas, there's a weight in his heart at the reality that Christmas is going to be without her. He knows that he needs to get back into the studio and get started on the new album with the band. But sometimes he wishes he had the ability to stop time for a cycle of endless minutes just to breathe in the smell of her skin for a moment longer. It's a sacrifice, though, and he has to keep telling himself that because eventually their time will run out.

Brendon and Keltie are talking inside the hotel room in small, but barely audible whispers. Ryan took the opportunity during the time off to fly out to see her for a couple of weeks, while Brendon did his normal holiday festivities with his family before joining them near the end. They spent the days tangled up in each other's limbs, fitting together against each curve. At night they went out with her fellow Rockettes, finally having the chance to see the new show. Brendon enjoyed every second, eyes fixated on her with intensity. He looked at her as though if he blinked, he'd miss something extraordinary. 

When she had hurt her ankle, Brendon was at Keltie's beck and call, and to Ryan's full amusement. She was upset that she couldn't continue dancing, grousing about the crutches. Brendon fed her light compliments--”Baby, only you could make being a gimp hot”-- warm hugs and soft kisses against her cheek. 

It always happens like this: as soon as Ryan becomes used to the attachment, as soon as it all floats into the familiar, they have to leave. The feeling is bittersweet, especially lying against the crumbled blanket and sheets, the remaining smell of sex and sweat fading into industrial fabric softener. He closes his eyes and listens to the canter of their voices, the breezy way Ketlie's floats in the air, dancing with Brendon's tenor. Whenever he is near them, he always associates Brendon's voice in terms of music: clefs, staffs and four-four time beats. They etch on the back of his eyelids like a pencil to paper; but the sound of her voice makes the imaginary tip swirl around in lazy circles, pirouettes and high kicks.

She giggles, sharp and sweet, cutting through Ryan's thoughts. He opens his eyes and turns to peer through blurry vision, watching as the two bodies turn into focus. Brendon is holding a small bag, and he grins smugly for a moment before opening it, his mouth dropping comically. It's followed by a careful lift of an eyebrow, and a pull of his lip in between a set of teeth. Ryan thins his eyes, narrowing the vision but watching as the faintest shade of pink stretches over Brendon's cheekbones. 

"What're two doing? Conspiring?" Ryan asks in a bored tone, but deep down, he really does want to know what is going on, because he always knows. Brendon is terrible at hiding things, and while Keltie tries to be sneaky, Ryan knows all of her tricks, has them all memorized. Nothing can get by him.

Brendon's lips tug into a smug smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?” he slurs, the words falling off of his tongue, sultry and teasing.

Bastard.

Ryan shrugs indifferently, and pulls himself off of the bed. Brendon turns around quickly and places the bag inside of his suitcase, zipping it up in expert speed. Which is...strange. Brendon is always up for secrets with Keltie, but he usually maintains a comfortable air about him—he's always sure of himself. But when Ryan looks, he sees a small tremble in Brendon's hands, and that is something new.

Even though the curiosity gets the best of Ryan, he doesn't bring it up on the ride to the airport. 

\--

They're back in Vegas for a week, and Brendon still refuses to reveal to Ryan what's in the bag.

“Dude, it's nothing,” Brendon grouses in an exasperated voice. Ryan can see his hands grip around the steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white. His jaw is set tightly, and Ryan almost wants to grin in triumph. He decides to play poker face instead. 

“Bullshit,” Ryan replies evenly. “You're the worst liar ever. Be glad you never wasted your money and went to law school.”

Brendon expels a long breath and shakes his head. He chews on his bottom lip--a terrible habit of his along with biting his nails--biting hard, and fuck, he's not relenting. The fucking stubborn bastard. Ryan continues to look at him, waiting to see if he'll break under the stare.

He doesn't.

“Stop giving me the silent treatment and quit looking at me like that,” Brendon commands in a low voice, his eyes focusing on the road in front of him, a little too hard. They've driven down the same road many times before, to the point Brendon's claimed cockily that he could drive it blindfolded. Ryan has challenged him to the offer, and always gets some kind of snide remark back. Either way, Brendon still keeps his hands on the 10-2 marks of the steering wheel, eyebrows furrowed together contemplatively.

Ryan sighs, and looks out the window. “Whatever,” he mutters. He's going to find out eventually, whether Brendon wants him to or not. 

The sky is swirled with colors from the setting sun, and Ryan thinks about the how the sunsets are different when they're home and unlike any place else on earth. 

\--

“Dude, I could totally pull that shit off,” Brendon says, a smug grin on his face. 

Ryan snorts, and shakes his head. “You do realize that she's wearing a dress, right?” They're both watching a late night rerun of Project Runway, the only thing on television worth watching. It was either that or 50 Cent's new series, which Ryan still doesn't understand how that managed to happen. 

Brendon looks over at Ryan like he's announcing strange challenges. “I am well aware that the girl on the television set has a dress on, Ross, yes.” They both focus on the overwhelming purple couture dress, and Ryan chuckles.

“Why would you even want to wear a dress?” he asks, confused. It wasn't like asking was unreasonable, although, Brendon did enjoy girl jeans, but still, a dress? That's pushing it, surely. 

Brendon leans closer, the stupid grin still on his face. “Why not?” Ryan shoots a glare at him and he laughs softly, “Come on, Ry,” he presses in a low voice. “You know I'd totally look hot in it.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and focuses back on the television. The dress' cut is fairly high in the front, almost to the point of being incredibly indecent. The rest of the fabric wraps extremely tight around the torso, accompanied by a long flowing train down the back. As Ryan focuses more on it, his mind suddenly replaces the emaciated model with Brendon's hips inside of the fabric, snug and smooth.

Ryan clears his throat, and gives Brendon a sideways glance. “Now that you mention it, you did get down and dirty with Katy Kay that one time, running all over--”

“Hey!” Brendon interrupts, and pulls himself up straight, “I looked smokin' with that skirt and you know it. I was bringing sexy back.”

Ryan smirks and raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah, I got so turned on looking at you running around like a fucking five year old, doing a Xena war cry. I mean, just thinking about it makes me all hot and bothered.” 

Brendon playfully punches the side of Ryan's arm. “Fucker,” he laughs, leaning back and resting his feet back up on the coffee table. He pauses for a beat before looking back up at him, “And you know what? Don't even get high and mighty. This is coming from the dude who wore the fucking rose vest.”

Ryan shrugs indifferently. “It's called artistic freedom,” he notes. 

“Whatever bro,” Brendon grumbles. They sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before Brendon rests his head against Ryan's arm, muttering, “I'd still be able to pull that shit off.”

Ryan hums an agreement to get Brendon to quiet, the thought of the purple silk against pale skin etched inside of his memory the whole night.

\--

They don't usually get out of the studio until really late, Ryan's ears buzzing from the echoes of guitar and drumbeats on permanent repeat through earphones. Everyone walks through the Palms, and although it's a Tuesday night, the place is still alive with a large amount of tourists. It's always strange at first, to get used to the disconnection between the studio and the actual club, the sequestered areas of recording mics and amps, and the flashing lights of the casino. 

Brendon walks up to Ryan, wrapping his fingers around his wrist carefully. Ryan can feel the callous of his thumb where the vein is, and he wonders if the rhythm of his heart is detectable. Spencer and Jon are walking in the opposite direction and Ryan quirks his eyebrows.

“Spencer and Jon are going to get beers,” Brendon explains with a shrug. “I said we're going back to your place.”

“Why would you--” Ryan starts but as soon he connects his gaze with Brendon's, the slight dilation of his pupils, the way his lips are parted slightly, he knows why and nods. “Okay,” he answers. 

Brendon holds onto his wrist all the way to the car.

\--

The house is dark when they get back, and there's a lingering stale, musky scent that always accompanies his place whenever he is away for a long period of time. Ryan sets the keys down on the coffee table and toes off his shoes before grabbing the remote and settling onto the couch. He looks over at Brendon, standing over to the side, his fingertips tapping against his thigh, and staring into the wooden floor like there's something very interesting in the pattern.

“What the hell are you doing standing there?” Ryan asks, his face pursing up in confusion. Brendon snaps his head up and he runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends.

“Um, I have to use the bathroom,” he answers quickly. Ryan blinks a couple of times.

“Okay? You know where it is. Do you want me to hold your hand or something?” 

The inexplicable tension in Brendon's shoulders dissolves a little as he rolls his eyes. “Oh don't be a douche,” he mutters, turning around and walking out of the room. 

Ryan chuckles and shrugs a shoulder. He continues to watch the show on TV, some two-season-old rerun of House. He barely pays attention, his mind going over the songs that they had laid the tracks down for today, and wondering if they should go back and change the piano part on the last song. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the harmony. Ryan makes a mental note to bring it up to Bob in the morning. 

After the show ends, Ryan realizes that Brendon is still holed up in his bathroom. 

“What the hell?” he mutters, pulling himself up and walking over to the guest bathroom, to which--no surprise--remains unoccupied. Brendon always claims that Ryan's master bathroom is much more aesthetically pleasing, in regards of having a better “toilet experience”. Ryan just believes he's jealous of the amazing jet tub he spent a small fortune buying, especially since he's let Brendon only use it once and Ryan's had it for almost a year. 

He ambles over into the master bedroom and notices the bathroom door shut. When he reaches for the knob, he discovers that it's locked. “Dude,” Ryan calls irritably, hitting the door with the flat of his palm. “What the fuck are you closing the door for? You never close the door.”

“That's not true,” Brendon counters back. “Maybe I want some privacy, Ross, ever think of that?”

Ryan snorts, “Privacy? That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. You're the first guy to pull your dick out and piss in public if needed.” He pauses for a second, leaning a little closer the door. “You better not be jerking off in my bathroom, asshole.”

“Oh, Ryan, you know how much Mexican tile gets me going,” Brendon coos dryly, and Ryan rolls his eyes. “Just chill the fuck out for a second, okay? I'll be out in a minute.”

“Whatever,” Ryan calls back lamely and turns to settle himself on his bed. He considers putting the television on in the bedroom, a sudden wave of exhaustion warming over, but—and of course this would happen-- he can't find the fucking remote. The door clicks open and Ryan doesn't bother to look up, busying himself with the search underneath the pillows. “Bren, I swear to god if I find the goddamn remote under the bed I'm going to--” Ryan turns around and suddenly his mouth goes dry. 

Brendon stands in the bathroom doorway, an uncertain look on his face. Ryan's eyes venture over the black corset lingerie covered in lace, clinging to his petite frame. His eyes continue to trail over the curving bottom, a small hint of his belly button exposing. That remains only mildly distracting, though, because the laced boyshorts that accompany the corset do nothing to cover the slight bulge inside of them. To Ryan's further surprise, Brendon's slender legs are covered in black thigh highs, the lace cuffing the top. 

“Um,” Ryan stutters, his gaze shooting back up at Brendon's wide eyes. “What's...going on?” The words tumble out of his mouth so fast he can barely stop himself. His tongue feels numb, the simple motor control he once had completely vanished. 

Brendon clears his throat, the hint of pink filtering onto his cheeks. “I was wondering if you could help me tighten the back of this?” He turns around and points to the strap bulging loosely against his back.

“Uh, su-sure,” Ryan manages. He attempts at walking, but the fabric has suddenly become restricting, and he quickly notes how his legs are tingling all the way down to his feet. When he reaches Brendon, he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before grabbing at the small clasp, pulling it until the small bit of fabric sits comfortably against Brendon's shoulder blade. “There,” he whispers. 

Brendon turns around, ducking his head coyly, and bites his lip, a small grin tugging on the sides. “What do you think?” he murmurs, his gaze still avoiding Ryan's.

“I think,” Ryan starts and gives a once over again, “I think we should've done this a long fucking time ago,” he replies in a hoarse voice. 

Brendon looks up with raised eyebrows. “Yeah?” 

Ryan nods, grazing his fingertips over the strap and to Brendon's collarbone, eyes fixated at the black stockings. “Oh yeah.” 

He curls his fingers under the strap, and tugs it a little, leaving Brendon to stumble into his arms. Brendon's hands rest against his chest as he reaches up and brushes back Brendon's bangs, watching it fall back and feather around his forehead. 

“Who's idea was this?” he asks, brushing the pads of his fingers over the laced cup and pushing until he feels the faintest touch of a nipple. “Hers? Or yours?” He wants to know—no, needs to know, because if it was hers Ryan can shrug it off as an idle female fantasy. But if it was Brendon's, than that means, well. It means something much deeper.

Brendon looks down at his hands against Ryan's chest and shrugs idly. “I think you know,” he whispers. 

“I want to hear you say it,” Ryan whispers back. He leans over, brushing his lips against Brendon's cheek, the stubble tickling against his mouth. He places wet kisses down the jaw line until he reaches Brendon's mouth, and flicks his tongue against the seam of lips.

Brendon visibly shudders, a shaky, heated sigh escaping. “It was mine,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut. 

Ryan wraps his arm tightly around Brendon's waist, the other hand splaying across the juncture of his neck, and presses their lips together firmly. Brendon moans happily, his tongue meeting Ryan's in the middle, a feverish fight between both of their mouths. He tastes like the jellybeans he was eating earlier, the sugary sweetness overwhelming in Ryan's mouth. 

Brendon breaks the kiss, his chest heaving, eyes hooded and lips swollen. “Bed,” he whispers, and pulls back, taking a couple of steps backwards. “And you need to get naked.”

“I'm on it,” Ryan murmurs, tugging the v-neck over his head in one swift motion, and reaching for his belt. Brendon crawls onto the bed and turns around, spreads his knees and waits. Ryan takes a moment to look at him once more, boyshorts too small against the bulging erection, and shakes his head in disbelief. 

“God,” he whispers, letting the pants drop to the floor and toeing out of them. He almost goes for his underwear, but his fingers itch to touch the lace all over Brendon's body and, yeah, fuck it, the damn underwear can wait. 

“C'mere,” Brendon murmurs, and Ryan's eyes flit up to his mouth, watches as he licks over his bottom lip, coating it wetly. Ryan's on automatic after that, crawling onto the bed in front of Brendon, hands reaching for his hips, but he stops and lets them hover. 

“Can I--” Ryan begins, and looks back at Brendon with question in his eyes. Can I touch you? he wants to ask, and then a whole new line of questions hit him all at once: Since when have you wanted to do this? What's it like? Would you tell me? How long? How long? God, how long?

Brendon doesn't respond, just lets his hands brush over Ryan's shoulders and collarbone, all the way down to his hips and squeezes lightly. He leans forward, his lips grazing over, making Ryan's eyes flutter shut. 

“Lay down,” Brendon whispers, and yeah, maybe he should do that because the weight of his body is making it difficult to stand as it is, and there's a numb tingle between his knees to his ankles that he's not really fond of at the moment. Brendon's fingers never leave Ryan's skin, but he continues to circle his thumbs against the jut of Ryan's hips. It's comforting, a sign that says Hey, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. 

Ryan's eyes remain closed, and he lets out a shaky breath when he feels Brendon's mouth hot against the shell of his ear, ragged and heavy. “What do you want?” he asks huskily, and Ryan opens his eyes to see Brendon's half-lidded with a heat that makes something inside of him break.

Instead of answering, Ryan grabs a fistful of hair and connects their mouths. There's a gasp of surprise but it's completely swallowed, and Brendon instantly gives in, his tongue licking into Ryan's mouth and brushing over the ridge behind his teeth to the point it makes his toes fucking curl. Brendon's fingertips still graze over Ryan's side, and he maneuvers until he's straddling Ryan, circling his hips to the point that Ryan has to break away and let out an unexpected moan. 

“Like that?” Brendon asks breathlessly, and Ryan looks up at him through blurry vision and almost wants to laugh but can't find it inside of him to actually do so. He palms up the front of the corset and is surprised at how soft it is under his touch compared with the scratchy feeling of lace from Brendon's thigh highs rubbing against the area of Ryan's hips. If Brendon keeps doing this he's going to--

“Fuck, stop,” Ryan gasps, squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head back and forth against the pillow beneath him. He continues to take large gasps of breath, and he arches his back a little to regain control. When he opens his eyes, he sees Brendon looking down at him, hands splayed over his chest, the tips still circling, small bits of heat drawing against Ryan's skin. The corset is still intact, interestingly enough, one straps falling off to the side.

“Can't take it, Ross?” Brendon asks teasingly, adjusting the strap properly. Ryan thins his eyes and growls, grabbing at the back of Brendon's ass, palms full of jagged lace. He pushes Brendon forward so that he has to catch himself by placing both of his palms on both sides of Ryan's head, the smile still there.

Ryan's fingers hook underneath the boyshorts, tracing under until he feels the side of Brendon's cock, and Brendon shudders above him, arms giving out a little. Ryan takes a moment to observe the way the corset stays still, his free hand grazing down the back and as he leans up to give a soft kiss. Brendon sighs happily, his hands grabbing fistfuls of pillow.

They break apart and the question is still in Brendon's eyes. Ryan cards his hand through his hair and pulls him back down. “Fuck me,” he whispers against Brendon's mouth before kissing him tenderly. He can feel Brendon nod against his mouth, a small tip of tongue to tease, before pulling back again and removing himself from the bed. 

Ryan gets up on his elbows and raises an eyebrow. Brendon shakes his head and chuckles darkly, walking back into the bathroom. “You might want to get naked for real now, Ross,” Brendon calls, walking back into the bedroom; Ryan sees that the boyshorts aren't doing anything to cover Brendon's erection, and he's not doing anything to hide it. 

Shit.

“Shit,” Ryan breathes, removing the boxers carefully and tossing them to the pile on the floor. He watches as Brendon reaches into the bag, pulling out a small packet. Brendon cocks his hip to the side, and it's so strange watching him stand in the middle of the room, in a fucking corset and thigh highs as though it's the most normal thing in the world. 

“Wha--” Ryan clears his throat, “What's that?” his voice still comes out feeble and soft, because his eyes keep wandering over the smoothness of Brendon's skin underneath the boyshorts, and the fine hairs of his legs covered by the black nylons. 

Brendon looks up, and smiles. “You'll see,” he answers softly, pulling out another pair of thigh highs—ivory colored—tossing the remaining packaging on the floor. Brendon crawls back on the bed, his eyes watching his fingertips graze over Ryan's leg before leaning over and peppering kisses over the inside. When he gazes up, he grins like he knows some deep dark secret and has all the time in the world to keep it from Ryan.

“These are for you,” he explains nonchalantly, his mouth hovering over the tip of Ryan's cock, the flat of his tongue licking under the shaft. 

Ryan lets out a hysterical laugh (the mixture of disbelief and pleasure too much to handle) and shakes his head desperately, peering down at Brendon. “No way,” he croaks, eyes closed. 

Brendon lifts himself up, and quirks an eyebrow. “No?” Ryan shakes his head in response, and Brendon shrugs his shoulders. “Fine then, I'll just have to tie you up.”

“What?” Ryan asks wildly, watching as Brendon grabs his wrists and quickly ties them together with one thigh high, using the other to tether him to one of the bars on the headboard. When he looks down at Ryan, he smiles triumphantly. 

“You don't want to wear them, then you don't get yourself off until I want you to,” Brendon explains his voice rough and low. “It's all part of the rules, Ry.”

Ryan opens his mouth to object, but his eyes focus on Brendon opening the drawer of the bedside table and pulling out the tube of lube and a wrapper, and oh. Ryan licks his lips, watching Brendon flick a stray hair away from his forehead before adjusting himself back between Ryan's legs. There's an ache inside of Ryan's chest to feel the lace again, to touch the parts that aren't covered up by strapslaceblack and he moves his arms a little in protest. 

Brendon ignores Ryan's silent pleas, opening the cap with a small flick, and drops it on the mattress. Ryan moves his legs up for Brendon to gain better access, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion when he notices Brendon lean down, his eyes still connecting with Ryan. Is he going to--

“Oh fuck,” Ryan groans, the wetslick feeling of Brendon's tongue over his entrance, hands holding up Ryan's thighs. He continues to fuck him with his tongue, and yeah, it's been a while since Brendon's done that, hell it's been a while since Ryan's even bottomed and he's forgotten how fucking good this feels. Brendon moans, and Ryan can feel it thrum inside of him, and that—that almost sends him over the edge. 

Brendon pulls back, his breathing less heavy, a drugged look on his face. The lazy smile is still there though, as he blindly reaches for the lube, lifting it up and waving it in the air a little. 

“Think we might need this?” he asks Ryan, and when Ryan's jaw just drops providing no real answer, and Brendon nods in conclusion. “Thought so,” he mutters, pouring an amount onto two fingers and pushing inside of Ryan carefully. 

Ryan's eyes flutter shut and he gasps, fists gripping so tightly, his fingernails dig deep into his palms. The stretch isn't as bad as it could've been if Brendon didn't just spend several minutes rimming the fuck out of him, and for that, Ryan's inwardly grateful. He shows his gratitude by repeating small breathy sighs of affirmation when Brendon curls his fingers just right and starts to finger fuck him hard. 

Brendon leans over and leaves wet chaste kisses over his stomach, purposefully, the bastard, ignoring his aching cock. Ryan is just as stubborn as Brendon, and he knows the game he's playing--he fucking taught him this--and he'll fight it all the way to the end if he has to. Brendon stops his hand, looking up at Ryan and lifting both his eyebrows, and Ryan lifts his hips as a silent indicator that he wants more.

Brendon chuckles, and moves his fingers slowly, and Ryan whines at the loss. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, listening to Brendon prep himself, the sound of the condom wrapper loud against his ears. A lingering silence rests between them, and Ryan almost opens his eyes to focus on Brendon and say something, and suddenly Brendon's there, the lace of the corset scratching gently at Ryan's stomach, hot breath against his cheek.

“Tell me you want this,” Brendon whispers, the tip of his dick lining up against Ryan's entrance, and Ryan wraps his legs around Brendon's hips, to find only smooth skin. He feels a tinge of disappointment to find that the underwear is gone, but remains silent. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Ryan lifts his head, blindly reaching for Brendon's neck, biting at the skin there. Brendon sighs contentedly, his forehead resting against Ryan's shoulder. Ryan turns his lips to Brendon's temple and whispers, “Please.”

Brendon groans and pushes inside, a little too roughly. Ryan arches his back and bites his lip to hold back the surprised gasp. His eyes open wide though, and Brendon peers down at him, a whisper of “God, sorry, ah,” tumbling out of his mouth. He shifts a little, pulls back to hook Ryan's legs around properly and grips onto Ryan's hips before moving at a steady pace. Ryan watches as Brendon's chest rises and falls rapidly, staccato gasps echoing in the air.

The corset is slightly askew from all the movement, the straps on both sides fallen over the muscle of Brendon's arms, and Ryan feels his chest tighten at the sight. He looks so beautiful above him, the sound of his skin slapping against skin, that familiar noise that makes Ryan arch for more and moan helplessly. He keeps his eyes on Brendon's though, searing hot with want and a smile spreads over the other man's face. 

“You should see yourself,” he murmurs, voice slightly hitched when he hits Ryan just right and Ryan moans loudly. “God you look so fucking--”

“Faster,” Ryan commands in a gasp, “harder,” he adds for more emphasis. Brendon acquiesces, his hands gripping onto Ryan's thighs tighter as he pushes into him with more vigor. Ryan can feel the silkiness of the thigh highs against his skin and he wishes he could touch himself so badly.

“Ryan,” Brendon moans, his eyes closing and head tilting heavenward, exposing his neck. Ryan feels the need to push his fingertips over the pulse point, the want, the drive to get closer. When he looks back down at Ryan, he smiles wickedly, and pulls out fast. Ryan moans at the empty feeling inside, watching as Brendon crawls over him. 

He moves closer to Ryan's face, ripping the condom off and flinging it the floor before wrapping his hand around the base of his cock. 

“Open,” he commands in a low, ragged voice and Ryan opens his mouth, eyes fixated on the way Brendon's hair is sticking to his forehead, the way the straps sit delicately against his arms. He looks at the exposed nipple from underneath the corset, bits of lace hidden by Brendon's shadow above him. 

Suddenly, it's all happening too fast, too bright: Brendon leans over to rest his free hand on the wall while he pumps his cock and bites his lip to stifle the moan. Ryan is ready, so fucking ready, he can feel it in his chest, the way his heart beats in tune with Brendon's hand, and he moans. Ryan closes his eyes for a split second, and Brendon lets out a guttural nose that can't be muffled and a warmth splashes over his face and tongue, and the salty mixture is there familiar and sticky. 

“Damn,” Brendon breathes after a beat, and Ryan opens his eyes, licks over his lips and mouth greedily, with a small moan of pleasure. Brendon adjusts himself until he's near Ryan's face, his fingertips brushing back Ryan's bangs, a small smile on his face. “Fuck, you're beautiful,” he whispers.

Ryan looks up at his hands and tugs them a little. “Wanna untie me now?” 

Brendon grins back, “Just don't touch yourself.” He pauses for effect. “We're not done.”

Ryan lifts an eyebrow, “Oh? Well could you at least let me clean this shit off my face? I can feel it sticking to my cheek.”

Brendon leans over and licks away the remains on his cheek and chuckles softly when Ryan gasps. “I can do that myself.”

“Fucker,” Ryan groans and pulls his arms again. “Come on, I'm not kidding.” Brendon releases his wrists, and instantly Ryan's hands are on Brendon, grazing over the lace again, brushing a pad over the nipple. Brendon lets out a shuddered sigh, and pulls back, looking for something next to them.

He grabs the lube and places a liberal amount on his fingers, a small bit falling onto Ryan's chest. “Ooops,” Brendon says unrepentantly, reaching between his legs, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Are you--” Ryan begins, his tongue running over his lips again, which feel dry and sticky. 

Brendon groans a little, “Yeah, and it feels so fucking amazing. I'm getting myself open and ready for you because I want you to fuck me so hard it hurts.”

Ryan inhales sharply and nods even though Brendon can't see him. When Brendon's done, he pulls back, grabbing at Ryan's dick, and adjusting himself above him.

“Wait,” Ryan says, his fingertips gripping onto Brendon's hips harder. “I need--”

Brendon shakes his head, “I want to feel you come inside of me.” Ryan lifts his eyebrows, because, yeah, they had never done that before. Ryan has thought about it countless times but never said anything. It wasn't that he didn't trust Brendon, he did with everything inside of him, but to let him do something like that was more than just trust; it was love and devotion too. 

“Are you,” Ryan swallows hard, and continues in a whisper, “You sure?”

“Yes,” Brendon says softly, eyes closing as he pushes down on Ryan. When Ryan's all the way in, Brendon adjusts his legs until his feet are planted on both sides of Ryan's head, and it's then that Ryan notices the panties around Brendon's ankle. Ryan grips it as he wraps both hands around Brendon's ankles absently, while Brendon adjusts himself on the heels of his hands. 

“Ready?” Brendon asks in a husky voice and begins to roll his hips languidly. Ryan knows that he's not going to last very long, and when he closes his eyes he can see stars behind them. His fingers grip harder around Brendon's ankles, small bits of hair sticking through the nylon. Brendon continues to keep the pace slow at first until he becomes impatient and begins to go so fast that the bed frame moves.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Brendon gasps in tune with Ryan's hips snapping up. Ryan opens his eyes to see Brendon fisting at his cock again, his other hand still holding his weight up. Their eyes connect for a moment, and it's then that Ryan arches his back and lets go, a loud moan filling the air with Brendon's. 

Brendon falls off of Ryan, his foot hitting his head. Ryan lets out a grunt, but the orgasm still rattles through him so hard, he feels paralyzed. Eventually Brendon repositions himself so that he's curled up against Ryan, his skin sticky with sweat. 

“Well that was fucking hot,” Brendon murmurs, and Ryan hums an agreement. He wraps his arm around Brendon's shoulders, playing absently with the strap hanging there. “And Keltie demands a reprise.” 

“Is that so?” Ryan chuckles, “Well she's the one who obviously helped you out, so I guess we'll have to give her what she wants.”

“She said next time she wants you in a bra too. Pink,” Brendon adds sleepily.

“No,” Ryan counters instantly, “No pink.” They sit in silence, Brendon hooking his leg over Ryan. The sheets are sticky beneath them, and the light is still on, but Ryan doesn't care. He continues to brush his fingers through Brendon's hair absently, their breathing evening out. 

“So are you going to tell me how this all happened?” he asks when his heart has calmed down.

Brendon turns his head until his chin rests on Ryan's chest. “You really want to know?” Ryan looks down and nods. He watches as Brendon shrugs. “I was watching Keltie shop for this shit and thought it'd be hot to try it out.”

Ryan snorts, “Are you serious?” he looks back at the ceiling and shakes his head. “You're something else.”

“Oh, but you love me, Ryan Ross,” Brendon breaths into his ear.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan mutters, pulling the covers over the both of them. “Now let's get some sleep.”

“Hmmm, sleep. You really know a way to a man's heart,” Brendon sighs happily. Ryan turns the light out and they both fall asleep instantly.

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